I didn’t think it was possible to mess up waffles that badly. I mean, really – you just pour batter into a waffle iron, buy some dollar store syrup, and there you go: Decent waffles. Instead, I was sitting in front of a plate filled with something that tasted more like soggy cardboard than anything even slightly resembling a waffle.

The door opened behind me and I jumped, not expecting anyone else to be here at this time of night. I wiped my eyes and sniffed, hoping to hide the fact that I’d been sobbing into these terrible waffles for the past 20 minutes.

A thin girl in a fluffy gray robe and pajama pants slid into the booth across from me, a smile playing on her lips. “Now what on earth is a stranger doing here at 4 a.m. to eat waffles?” she asked, pushing the plate away from me. “Literally everyone knows they only have one good thing.” She motioned the waitress over and ordered something while I tried to discreetly wipe my eyes again, checking my phone for the millionth time even though I knew no one would have noticed yet.

The girl across from me scooted to the opposite end of the booth so her back was against the wall and turned to the side, putting her legs up on the rest of the seat. “Now I know the waffles are bad, but I wouldn’t say they’re worth crying over. So what’s your story?” I laughed – my story? A mess. That’s what my story was. A complete and utter mess. All I could do was shake my head and grab a napkin from the almost-empty holder to wipe my nose. “Okay, fair enough. Easier question: Are you running from something, or to something?” I looked up at her – how could she know I was running? “That’s the only reason you’d be in here,” she said, as if she could read my mind. “We don’t exactly get a ton of tourists, especially not ones who come to cry over waffles before sunrise. So which is it?”

The waitress came back and set a plate of French toast down in front of the girl. She pushed it to the middle of the table and picked up a piece, her red fingernails glinting in the fluorescent lights. She studied me as she chewed her toast, eyebrows raised, still waiting for an answer. I took a deep breath. “From.” My voice wavered and I bit my lip, trying not to lose it again. There was a pause before she said anything.

“So you have a car?” I checked my phone again – nothing – and raised my head to look at her, finding an unexpected intensity in her green eyes. I nodded.

“No money to fill it up, but I do have a car. Good Lord,” how stupid could I have been? I put my arms on the table and rested my head in them, giving up on any attempt to not fall apart in front of this stranger. I was an idiot! I couldn’t just take off and drive and hope everything would be okay! How could that have ever seemed like a good plan? Maybe if it had actually been a plan it would’ve been better – I’d at least have a change of clothes in the back and enough money for a few tanks of gas.

She interrupted my personal little pity party. “Hey,” she prompted, and I looked back at her, no longer caring enough to be embarrassed by my red eyes. “This is your lucky day. First of all, try the French toast,” she said, pushing the plate towards me. “I promise it’s actually good.” She waited until I picked up a piece. I really shouldn’t have been eating it – then again, I shouldn’t have been eating the waffles either, so it was already too late to make good decisions. The diet would have to wait until tomorrow.

She was right – the French toast was good. Amazingly good. Best-toast-I’d-ever-had-in-my-life good. How anything this good could come from the same griddle as the waffles of death that now lay forgotten and cold was beyond me.

“Second of all,” she continued, “I’ve got money.”

“What?” I asked through a mouthful of warm gooeyness.

“I want to run. I need a car, and you need money, so let’s run together,” she said with a smirk, another piece of toast dangling in her fingers. I didn’t even know how to react. The last thing I had ever expected to happen when I walked into this run-down diner in a run-down town in Lord-knows-where, Maine, was this. It was absurd! “So whaddaya say?”

What part of my life hadn’t been absurd for the past few weeks? May as well keep the trend going.

I nodded.

“Beautiful,” she said as a huge smile spread across her face. “I have to run back home to get some clothes and whatever, then meet you here in… an hour?” I just laughed.

“Sure,” I said, throwing my hands up. Why not drive to nowhere with a stranger? What could possibly go wrong! Right then, I really didn’t care. This was my ticket out; if she had money, actually had it, then I really could run. I could drive to Canada or Texas or wherever on this dang continent I so well pleased and never have to face Isaac or Mama or anyone ever again.

“Help yourself to the rest of the French toast,” she said, beaming as she slid out of the booth and heading for the door.

“Wait,” I stopped her. “What’s your name?”

She paused, looking out the windows for a moment before looking back at me. “Mitta.”

“I’m Marga-” she was already out the door. “Margarita.”